Just Redemption
by JealousOfTheMoon
Summary: How does a person go from a traitorous, murderous brat to a King of true justice? A story of redemption. [Oneshot. Movie&Bookverse. Extremely Drabbley.]


_This drabble-y combination of Movie- and Bookverse came from watching the movie (same time as _One Winter's Morning). _I was actually sitting there with a clipboard scribbling as I watched, thinking 'Ooh, this could explain that,' and 'ahhh, look what I can do with that line!' and of course desperately trying not to say those thoughts of inspiration aloud and thus spoil the watching experience for the other viewers. As for the blending of 'verses, although I do love Edmund in the movie, I have two major problems: _

_1) His crime is severely downplayed and he comes across as a struggling boy who is utterly clueless as he tries to do the –cough- right thing._

_2) Both he and Peter are told by a freaky flower-tree lady what happened to Aslan, which is just WRONG because it clearly does NOT happen in the book._

_So I have used the white-out of fanfiction to erase those events and substitute some slightly more canon-esque ones; I do believe Edmund willfully and hatefully betrayed his siblings—making his redemption all the more beautiful—and while I have no doubt that eventually Edmund did learn of what Aslan did, since this is a reflection taking place shortly after the coronation, I don't think he knew just yet. _

**Just Redemption**

"_Behold the proud, His soul is not upright in him; But the just shall live by his faith."_

How does it happen? How does a young boy go from brat to traitor to king of justice in mere days?

"See, you hold it this way, and swing your arm this way, and it goes where you want it to." The blond boy demonstrated to the dark-haired. "Now you try." But Edmund Pevensie's short, chubby arms barely held the ball off the ground—it was nearly the size of his head—and his attempt to throw it was more like dropping it and watching it roll. Peter shook his head. "No, no, Ed—that's not right. You're supposed to use _one_ hand."

This was I and my brother. Of course we had a few spats now and again, but Dad was always there to step in and get them on the path to reconciliation. The war changed all that. Dad went away and it was nothing like before. Peter was always going on about how he had to 'help Mum,' and 'take Dad's place.' If anyone could do that, as a young boy I was sure it was Peter. I _expected_ it to be Peter.

But Peter couldn't. Because Peter didn't know what Dad did. Peter didn't know that I was afraid of the dark, sometimes so much that I cried. Peter only knew that Lucy was having nightmares and so he slept on the floor of _her_ room next to _her_ bed, and never mind that I was left alone to fend for myself. Catch me doing so much as anything good for Peter again—I fought my fears the first night with bitter thoughts—catch me sleeping on _his_ floor when _he_ gets afraid of the dark! And when Lucy's nightmares stopped and he came back to our room, I'd got along find without him and he thought he could still be Big Strong Peter. It was all his fault that I didn't want him about.

When I was resentful and pushed my brother away, I always thought he'd make it right—like Dad did. But he didn't. He didn't even care; Lucy was his favorite, Lucy he played games with, Lucy he gave in to her every whim, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.

Sometimes Mum caught me looking at Dad's picture, and I thought she knew. I thought she'd help me. I thought she'd understand what I wanted. _I_ didn't understand what I wanted, but she should have. The night of the Blitz, she didn't come after me when I went for Dad's picture. She should have known, but she let Peter follow me. She let Peter give me his "responsible older brother" lecture, and then she sent me away when she knew I only wanted to stay with her. And all her hugs ever got me were a stern reprimand from Susan later on about not burdening Mum.

Susan should have understood too.

There was the first time I entered Narnia. I was cold and hungry and lonely. I called for Lucy, but she didn't come. She should have come, but she didn't. As the dwarf held the knife to my neck, I had this bizarre hope that she would come running through the trees and save me. Never mind that she couldn't have done that any more than I could fly, but I thought she should have tried, and she didn't.

Instead, a tall, pale, cold figure stood and ordered my release. She was beautiful and she warmed me and fed me. She saw my bitterness, my resentment, and she promised me something sweet—sweeter than Turkish delight. She promised me power. In that moment, I threw down the mistreated act and told myself that my siblings hated me and I had every right to hate them back. They failed me, and I had no reason to help them now. Full of their own selfishness, and never ceasing their 'straighten up and stop being selfish' lectures. Hypocrites! But she didn't talk to me that way. I could show my perfect siblings how much it hurt, being let down like that. If I got a bit of luck and inherited a kingdom in the process, I wasn't going to complain.

Yet even as I entered the castle to further my treachery, I hoped that one of them would run after me and save me. Grab me by the collar, knock me to the ground, and then pick me up and hand me the coat I'd left behind because I was so very cold, and they'd tell me how wrong they were and how much they loved me. But they didn't. I told myself they deserved whatever they would get.

I thought I was betraying my siblings into slavery, not death! But what did I care? Soon I would be warm and eat something sweet and then I would be _king_!

_What is this? Her food is hard and cold—I cannot swallow it—and her drink is frozen—I am parched._ Her dwelling was made from icy stone and I was cold, very cold. Still I persisted in telling myself that this was better than a life with those brutes. Soon they'd be captured (killed? don't think about that!) and then the Queen would like me and tell me she'd missed me and let me sit on her throne again.

Even as I showed "mercy" to the fox by giving away the location of Aslan's camp, I thought I was being the hero and so I acted. I thought I could laugh in Peter's face—'look who showed _you_ up'—by saving one more person. But it didn't work that way and in the end I satisfied myself by calling _him_ the failure of a hero—since he obviously hadn't saved _me_.

Tied to a tree in the cold dark, it was very hard to convince myself any further that I still wanted this. There was the sound of hooves, something cut the ropes, and I was lifted up…carried away…

Now look at me. I stand, feeling rather wretched, before the Great Lion, and he doesn't promise me a kingdom or food or anything like that. "Son of Adam," his voice is stern, but gentle. "How long have you hated your brother and sisters, your mother and father?"

"I've never hated my father—" then I stopped. Had I? Hadn't I hated _everyone_? Sure I had resented him for leaving us… "I suppose I've hated everyone."

"Because they do not give you what you want."

"They should have given me what I wanted—what I needed." I protested feebly. I somehow doubted that he cared very much about my being wronged.

"Son of Adam, have you ever really trusted anyone besides yourself?"

A million denials rose in my throat—but then I caught sight of his eyes, and I knew he was right. "No, Aslan."

"You have hated others because you could not bear the thought that it was you that was weak, you that should be hated. For this reason you would have had them killed."

That voice—terrible in its gentleness and strength, fearsome in the _truth _it spoke. My knees trembled, and I knew there was no hope for me now. There was nothing that the Lion could promise me now, nothing that could save me. I should have died back there, in the Witch's camp.

"Yet there is hope."

_Hope?_ I wanted to scream. _Hope for a traitor and—yes—a murderer as well? Hope for Edmund Pevensie? _

"Fear not, Edmund Adam's Son. I will never leave you, nor forsake you." And with these words he nudged me towards where my eager siblings were waiting awkwardly.

You know the rest, perhaps—how Aslan left us on the eve of the battle, where I know not though I have my strong suspicions. Whatever he was doing, I couldn't hate him during that battle for leaving us; see, because he was something that was sure. Something that was certain. He said he wouldn't leave me, and he didn't, even though he wasn't with me.

It seems irrational and unlikely and bordering on going mental, but it's the truth. Aslan's that way, and you won't understand it 'till you've met him.

Perhaps if I were to tell you that the stone frog decoration in your garden could be breathed upon and suddenly come to life, you'd think I was crazy here too. But I've seen Aslan do just that—not only literally, but also on me. I was stone, and now I am flesh.

So how, you ask, did Edmund Pevensie go from a traitorous, murderous brat to the king of True Justice?

The answer is simple: Redemption.

_Summary quote taken from Habakkuk 2:4. _


End file.
